


Holding Your Breath

by dettiot



Series: ink in my pen ran dry [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Writer!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-21 22:12:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2484149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dettiot/pseuds/dettiot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity Smoak’s newest book is called <i>Invading the Treehouse: Why Women Are Needed in Technology</i>.  Oliver Queen’s first book is <i>The Frat Boy Way: Life and Women According to the World’s Most Successful Frat Boy’s Twitter Account</i>.  These two authors should have nothing in common except their publisher . . . but that’s not at all accurate. Publishing/writer!AU Olicity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Arrow fic! Hope y’all enjoy it. I don’t have the next chapter written yet, partly because I’m curious about the reaction this fic will get, so I’d love hearing if you like this story. Thanks for reading.
> 
> The big change I made is to have Felicity graduate from MIT with her bachelor's a bit earlier. But in my head, instead of going to work for Queen Consolidated, she got an advanced degree that she quite possibly did receive in 2009, so it all kind of works. :-)

_All good writing is swimming under water and holding your breath._ F. Scott Fitzgerald 

XXX

Publisher’s Weekly, December 11, 2006  
 **Smoak to Penguin**  
Penguin’s new nonfiction lifestyle imprint is the winner in the Felicity Smoak sweepstakes. The critically-acclaimed author of _Closing Doors and Opening Windows: Where Microsoft Went Right (And Wrong)_ and _Revolution in Hand: How Betting on Music Made Apple Relevant Again_ will now hang her hat under the shingle of Ex Astris Books, in a deal valued at nearly a quarter of a million dollars. The deal will see Smoak reach beyond her computer geek roots to look deeper at the crossroads of technology and society. Smoak is repped by Laurel Lance of LL Literary. 

Publisher’s Lunch, February 14, 2007  
 **Ex Astris Announces First Book Contract for Twitter Account**  
The gutsy new imprint from Penguin--if an imprint from one of the Big Six can be called ‘gutsy’--has announced a first-of-its-kind deal for a book from Oliver Queen, the hitherto-unknown voice of the Twitter account Frat Boy Fraternity. Queen, working with his collaborator Tommy Merlyn and another unannounced author, will be turning his 140 characters’ worth pearls of wisdom into a book touted as _The Bro Code_ meets _S#!+ My Dad Says_ according to publisher press release.

Frat Boy Fraternity, with over a million followers, was aggressively targeted by Ex Astris. Coming on the heels of the formerly anonymous account’s author being revealed as Queen, the fast-tracked title will market itself. But it remains to be seen if what works in a tweet works in a book. We watch and wait to find out the answer to this question.

Wired, June 2007  
 **Tech’s New Goddess: An Interview with Felicity Smoak** (excerpts)  
You’re working on a new book, is that correct?  
Yes! I’m really excited about this one--not that I’m not excited about all of my books, it’s just a different kind of excitement now for the books that are all done and on the shelf, because it’s like they’re dead to me, they don’t talk any more [. . .] This new book isn’t retrospective, it’s not looking back at the industry’s history. This time, I’m looking forward, taking our current conditions and trying to guess what might happen next, and whether that should happen and if it shouldn’t, how we can stop and move to a different path [. . .] Trying to show that technology is going to keep changing society, changing our lives, and it’s up to us to figure out if those changes are good or not. And if they’re not, we need to change that, too.

USA Today, July 11, 2007  
 **Playboy Turned Author Oliver Queen Prepares For the Publication of His First Book**  
“It’s just really cool, to get to go beyond Twitter and all,” the handsome, charming heir to the Queen billions told us from his luxurious Starling City penthouse. “I’m just too awesome for 100 characters,” he says with a wink. When his collaborator, Tommy Merlyn, corrects him that it’s 140 characters in a Tweet, Queen laughs. “Still too awesome.”

XXX

The ringing of her cell phone pulled Felicity Smoak out of the research black hole she had fallen into. Gratefully, she snatched up her phone and answered it, not bothering to check who it was. And then she wished she had checked first. 

“Felicity, hi, it’s Laurel.” 

“Ohhh, hi,” Felicity said, wincing. She had been trying to avoid Laurel a little, focusing on final copyedits instead of whatever her agent was calling about right now. If writing books that she loved--books that were her babies just as much as her computers were--was all she had to do to get paid, Felicity would be in heaven. A heaven that would hopefully also have premium Italian-roast coffee and a range of cute ballerina flats. In bright colors and maybe with cute little animals on them. The shoes, not the coffee, of course. 

“Have you looked over that box of advance copies I sent you for blurbing?” Laurel’s voice cut into Felicity’s musings about heaven, which was an ironic train of thought since the Torah kind of didn’t specify if there was an afterlife or not.

“How mad would you be if I said no?” Felicity asked, bracing herself. 

It wasn’t that she wasn’t dedicated to being an author. She agonized over every word in every draft. She always responded promptly to editorial concerns. And doing copyedits, like she was right now, where she got to spend an hour trying to decide if she should use a semicolon or not, was one of her favorite things because it was a lot like programming. 

But unfortunately, being a published author also meant doing publicity, cultivating her image, and generally doing a bunch of things that didn’t really matter. Because if your book was good, it should stand on its own merit and not by some meaninglessly vague bit of praise plastered all over the cover of your book, praise from some other author or a quasi-celebrity. 

Laurel must be pinching the bridge of her nose, she sounded so exasperated. “Felicity, you know how important it is for Ex Astris to see that you’re part of the family. Which means blurbing at least two of their fall titles. I know it sucks that they bumped you to the winter, but I still think it’s for the best. You’ll be able to do a lot of great promotion after the first of the year, but not if you don’t--”

“Play the game,” Felicity said along with her agent, repeating Laurel’s favorite phrase. “I know, Laurel, I know. I’ll do it today and send you the blurbs, I promise.” 

There was a pause, then a sigh. “Swear on your coffeemaker?” 

Jumping to her feet, Felicity crossed her apartment to one of her other babies (okay, so she had a big heart and found room for lots of things that were considered her babies), the top-of-the-line coffeemaker she had purchased with part of her first book’s advance. “I swear on Paolo’s life, I will send you two perfectly-crafted blurbs by six p.m.” 

“Six p.m. my time zone, or six p.m. yours?” 

Damn it, she needed a new agent. One who didn’t know all her tricks. “Six p.m. your time zone, of course,” Felicity said immediately. “I’m not out to make your life more difficult.” 

There was a very unladylike huff from the other end of the phone, but Laurel, who was frankly perfect, let it go. “Okay, great. Thanks, Felicity. How’s everything going with _Treehouse_?”

Felicity smiled happily at just the thought of her latest book. “It’s amazing. I love it so much.” 

“You are the only author I know who falls more in love with their books during copyedits. Everyone else starts to hate their book,” Laurel said with a laugh. 

“This is my last chance to really live with my book, before I have to set it free. Set my baby free into a cold, cruel world. Why wouldn’t I fall more in love with it?” Felicity asked, taking advantage of being next to Paolo to fill a mug with coffee. 

“You are just one-of-a-kind,” Laurel replied.

Chuckling, Felicity took a sip of her coffee before speaking. “I bet you say that to all your authors.”

“Yep. Ego-stroking is a critical part of the job. Okay, Smoak, get me those blurbs,” Laurel said, switching gears nearly as fast as Felicity could. “Six p.m. on the dot.” 

“I swore on Paolo! You’ll have them,” Felicity said, trying to keep her voice light and upbeat. To not dump her frustration on Laurel. 

Hanging up, Felicity took another sip of coffee, closing her eyes and savoring it. Then, squaring her shoulders, she walked over to the box that had arrived last week and hadn’t made it any further than her front door. She pushed aside a few pairs of shoes that had collected around the box and sat down on the floor, crossing her legs and setting her coffee beside her as she opened the box. 

Part of being published was being asked to provide forthcoming books with a blurb. Her publisher had sent advance copies--printed versions of the final draft designed for reviewers, booksellers, librarians and the like--of all the books they would be publishing this fall, so now she had to decide what looked interesting enough to read and possibly blurb. 

Words that could be used as both a noun and a verb were some of her favorites. _She wrote a blurb . . . he blurbed the new Walter Isaacson . . . they are blurbing the same way . . ._

To be honest, she would probably be reading all of them, because Felicity loved books. Loved discovering new authors, loved learning something new, loved having her preconceived notions challenged. But being able to distill down what she loved into a pithy quote, suitable for marketing the book . . . that wasn’t exactly something at which she was good. Because when she got excited, it was all babbling and enthusiasm and lots of hand movements, and none of that really translated into a blurb. 

Still, it had to be done. So she sipped her coffee and started making piles of books around her, letting herself at least enjoy this part of the process. Until she reached the bottom of the box and pulled out the last book, unable to keep her nose from wrinkling.

What were they thinking? Did they honestly think she would recommend the Frat Boy Fraternity book?

Even though judging a book by its cover was so bad that it had the world’s oldest cliché to say how bad an act it was, Felicity just couldn’t help herself. Because this book was a symptom of one way that books--all of society and culture, really--were going wrong, in her opinion. 

The glossy black cover featured a mirror inset, so she could see a funhouse reflection of herself, underneath the book’s title, written in lurid red letters. _The Frat Boy Way: Life and Women According to the World’s Most Successful Frat Boy’s Twitter Account_.

Felicity sighed. She wasn’t exactly the demographic for this book. And based on the hour she had spent reading the Frat Boy Fraternity Twitter feed when the book deal was first announced, she wouldn’t enjoy reading this. But it was thin--it was bound to be a quick read. And there was the very fact that a blurb from her would attract some attention . . . maybe that would make her publishers feel more welcoming towards her? 

Turning the book over, Felicity felt her breath catch in her throat when she caught sight of the author photo. She had heard of Oliver Queen, of course. Had seen some of his more notable exploits on TMZ and the like. But it was one thing to see blurry cell phone video of some falling-down-drunk playboy and a carefully-staged author photo. Because Oliver Queen took good picture.

The photo looked like it had been taken on the beach; she thought she could see the ocean in the far distance. His dirty blonde hair, a bit shaggy and messy, was blowing in the wind and he was half-smiling, half-smirking at the camera. But what made her stare at Oliver Queen was his eyes: because they were an intense shade of blue, with a charismatic power that made her not want to look away. They both invited you in and kept you at a distance. Those eyes said he took you on his terms and you would like it. 

It was too much. Felicity quickly flipped the book back over and dropped it on the floor before bringing her hands to her cheeks, trying to cool her flushed skin. It was just as bad to be too positive about a book based on its cover as it was to be too negative. But . . . but now she was curious. Curious about the mystery she was glimpsing in Oliver Queen’s eyes.

And mysteries needed to be solved. So even though she felt her cheeks go as red as an overclocked CPU running with a too-small fan, Felicity put _The Frat Boy Way_ in her to-be-read pile--at the bottom of the pile, to be saved for last. 

She carried the contenders to her comfy chair, putting them on the coffee table before she fortified herself with more coffee. Settling down, Felicity pulled the top book off the small pile and started reading, taking advantage of her speed-reading ability to zip along. And if she occasionally threw a glance at her pile, seeing Oliver Queen’s book waiting for her, she was the only one who had to know. 

Even before she got to the bottom of the pile, Felicity was able to give her victory fist pump. She had two books that she was completely willing and eager to blurb. Not wasting any time, she got her tablet and another coffee refill, pausing only to kiss Paolo before she started typing up her thoughts. 

For some reason, the blurbs were easy to write. It was not because the sooner she got them done, the sooner she could start figuring out what the story was with Oliver Queen. No, it was because she needed to make her deadline and give Laurel a break. That was what was motivating Felicity. Yep, the only thing. Not piercing blue eyes. 

Her tablet let out a cheery little beep as she hit send on her email to Laurel and Felicity fist pumped again for good measure. But that meant there was no longer any reason to put off reading _The Frat Boy Way_. 

Felicity pursed her lips and tucked a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. She felt the oddest mixture of anticipation, embarrassment, and dread run through her. Because . . . because all things being equal, she wasn’t going to enjoy reading that book, yet she felt like she just had to read it. 

“Oh, just get it over with,” she said out loud, reaching over to tug the book from the bottom of the pile. There was no need to get ridiculous like this. She was a published author, a MIT graduate, and an accomplished hacker. Regardless of how she felt, it wasn’t like Oliver Queen would ever know. 

XXX

“Dude, Ollie, you gotta come read this!” 

The gleeful tone in his best friend’s voice was way too much to take at this hour of the morning, Oliver Queen thought grumpily as he buried his head under one of the feather down pillows on his king-sized bed. Last night’s tequila drinking meant one of those killer hangovers, the kind where he was sensitive to light or noise or doing anything harder than breathing was not in the cards. “Go ‘way.” 

“C’mon, Ollie!” The sudden brightness made Oliver wince. Tommy had yanked the pillow away and was now thumping it against his back. “If you can’t trust me . . .” 

Oliver rolled over and squinted at Tommy. “I only trust you ‘cause of what you know.” He pushed himself up and ran a hand through his hair. “What time is it?” 

“Three. Here.” 

A phone was in his face, too close for him to read it. Leaning back, Oliver tried to focus on it and then looked up at Tommy. “Seriously, what the fuck?” 

Tommy appeared downright gleeful. “This chick read your book and wrote about it!”

“How can anyone read the book? It’s not even published yet.” 

“Dunno, but she did and you gotta read what she said, it’s awesome.” Tommy grinned and took his phone back, beginning to read. “‘ _The Frat Boy Way_ is the outgrowth of a Twitter account called Frat Boy Fraternity. Putting aside how redundant that is, I went into reading _The Frat Boy Way_ wanting to hate it. I fully expected to, because after all, I’m not exactly a frat boy, and the last thing I want, or really any woman wants, is to be treated as advised by Mr. Queen. Because the world has plenty of misogynistic, patronizing, arrogant douchebags. But what it doesn’t have? Good writers. It pains me a little to say that he’s not bad and could be better. And since this is all way too long to put in a blurb--and it’s not exactly what the marketing department would want to see on the cover of any book--I wrote this blog post. I doubt Mr. Queen will ever see this . . . but maybe just putting it out into the universe is enough.’”

As Tommy read, Oliver found himself sitting up straighter, his mouth going dry. This was the last thing he expected when Tommy had revealed, six months ago, that he had been Tweeting about their exploits in Starling City--and that they had a lot of fans. Or followers, whatever it was called with Twitter. So many fans that somebody wanted him to write a book. 

He hadn’t really understood what the big deal was. Not at first. But then he started reading the Tweets and . . . and it was weird, seeing that version of himself. Realizing that people seemed to care what he thought. That didn’t happen a lot to Oliver Queen. Even if it was because of some dumb Twitter account, it was something. 

So it was easy to just go along with what Tommy had set in motion and do the book. It gave him something to think about whenever Robert Queen complained about his lack of ambition and focus or when his mother sighed and looked disappointed in him. Not that it was enough--it was never enough--but it was something.

“Who is this woman?” Oliver asked, trying to sound nonchalant. 

Tommy shrugged. “Her name’s Felicity Smoak. Uptight teacher type.” He tapped a few buttons and turned the phone back to Oliver, revealing a picture of a woman about their age, with dark hair pulled back from her face and wearing a black turtleneck. But there was something in her blue eyes that made Oliver think she was putting on an act. Being more serious than she really was. 

Before he could deliberate this Felicity Smoak any more, Tommy took his phone back. “Gotta say, I’m surprised you’re alone. What happened to that redhead?” 

“More trouble than she was worth. Thought she wanted a rebound, but she was too hung up on the ex still to do anything but cry,” Oliver said, throwing back the covers and swinging his feet to the floor. 

“You’ve had crappy luck lately,” Tommy said sympathetically. Then a grin crossed his face. “Or you’ve lost your touch.” 

Snorting, Oliver threw Tommy a look and got up. “No fuckin’ way. Just enjoying not being tied down--and not looking for drama. Especially after the last shitstorm with Helena.” 

“All the more reason to have as much sex as you can, now that you’ve finally cut her loose. Dude, you’re letting down all the brothers in Pi Kappa Alpha.” 

“I think Pike’s got bigger problems than me,” Oliver said, heading towards the bathroom. “God, I need coffee. And food. Call down and ask Raisa if she could make me some breakfast, will ya?” 

His best friend shook his head. “You are scared of being happy. You need to have some fun, and we’re gonna make that happen. So yes, I’ll get you some breakfast and while you eat, we’re gonna plan for tonight. Because we are gonna hit Starling City hard, and we’re not comin’ back until you, my friend, have at least one girl.” 

Oliver stopped in the doorway to his bathroom and looked at Tommy. Last year--hell, even a few months ago--his plans would have been normal. Completely ordinary. But now . . . it had lost some of its appeal. But how could he tell Tommy that? He couldn’t, not without revealing more than he wanted. And he was right--it had been too long since he’d found some woman and lost himself for a few hours. Maybe that’s what he needed, to deal with all these strange ideas he started getting while writing the book. 

Because Oliver Queen wasn’t a serious guy.

So he threw Tommy a grin and a salute. “Aye aye, captain.” 

Tommy’s laughter was loud and uncomplicated, and it followed Oliver into the bathroom. He started the shower and then stood by the sink, lathering up his face to shave. As he smoothed the razor over his skin, he found his mind going back to the words that Tommy had read to him. About how he had potential as a writer. 

Potential. It was one of Oliver’s least-favorite words. Because whatever he had, he never seemed to live up to it. No one he knew--not Tommy, not his little sister Thea, not even his mother--seemed to think he was capable of anything more than what he was. 

Yeah, sure, it had surprised him to discover that he actually cared about the book. Actually wanted to work. Actually . . . liked it. He hid it, of course, but he did care. So what made some stranger, a woman he’d never even met, think that he could be something? 

Who the fuck was Felicity Smoak anyway?

A small slip with his razor made Oliver jerk back and out of his thoughts. Shaking his head, he made himself focus on shaving and showering. He needed to have his mind clear for tonight. Needed to remember just who he was and who he always would be.

And that was just your average billionaire playboy, pressured by his family to step in and help run the family company--a fate that Oliver was eager to avoid. Because he would be a crappy CEO and the only reason he’d have that job was because his name was on the building. He didn’t want that. So until he knew how he was going to avoid that fate, he was going to keep living his life as he always had: waking up whenever, working out hard, then going out and partying even harder. That was what he was good at, really. The book was just a fluke, something fun, and in a few years he’d probably barely remember it. 

When he stepped out of the bathroom, it was to find that Raisa was a miracle worker. Not only had she produced one of her amazing breakfasts, she was chatting away with Tommy: giving him the gentle teasing that made Raisa more of a mother than either Tommy or Oliver had ever had. 

Oliver couldn’t help smiling as he walked over to Raisa. “This smells amazing. Just what I needed, Raisa. Thank you.” Kissing her cheek, he took a seat and immediately dug into his eggs.

“My pleasure, Mr. Oliver. Do you or Mr. Tommy need anything else?” 

“Nope, we’re good. Thanks, Raisa,” Tommy said, smiling as he sipped his coffee. 

As soon as the door closed behind Raisa, Tommy turned to Oliver. “Right. Here’s what I think we should do. I was checking my email, and you’re gonna be traveling for the book soon. Doing publicity and shit. So we should kick off a week of good-byes to Starling City, leave ‘em looking forward to us comin’ back. A trail of broken hearts in our wake.” 

He couldn’t help chuckling. “And how’s that different from any other week with us?” Oliver leaned back in his seat, drinking some coffee and grinning. Yeah, this was what he needed.

“I’m talking about pulling out all the stops. Make this something to be remembered.” Tommy grinned, clearly pleased at how Oliver was responding. “We’re gonna have to do actual work on this tour, from what I’ve seen already, so we might as well have fun before we leave.”

“Then what’s the plan for tonight?” Oliver said, setting down his coffee cup and picking up a piece of bacon. 

Tommy grinned and clapped Oliver on the shoulder. “It’s good to have you back, Ollie. You worked too damn hard on that book. I still can’t believe you didn’t want a ghostwriter. You’ve got lost partying time to make up for, and we’re gonna do it, starting tonight. Dinner at Table Salt before we start clubbing.” 

“Sounds great,” Oliver said. And it did. It sounded like just what Ollie Queen needed. 

And if he told himself that he needed to find that article by that Felicity Smoak and read it later, when he was alone, it wasn’t like he was gonna do it tonight. No, that could wait until the start of the tour. Then he’d read it and figure out how to feel about this so-called potential of his. 

Tonight, the only potential he was interested in was the female kind. 

End, Chapter 1


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. I am so thrilled by the reaction to the first chapter of this story! Thank you for welcoming me like this and I hope y’all continue to enjoy it.
> 
> If you spot _The O.C._ reference in this chapter, you get a cookie!

Starling City Tattler, November 16, 2007  
 **The New Hot Place for Starling City Singles: Book Signings!**  
Local bookstores are already looking forward to a very merry Christmas, thanks to the crowds of young adults crowding their stores and looking for love. It’s all thanks to Starling City’s favorite son and playboy, Oliver Queen! Signings for his bestseller are packing ‘em in, with dozens of young ladies hoping to make a connection with the always-eligible Queen--and plenty of fellows looking to be a shoulder to cry on for the poor girls who don’t make the cut. Here’s hoping Ollie’s got a lot more books in him!

Time, November 2007  
 **Breaking the Glass Ceiling to Climb Into the Treehouse** (cover story, excerpt)  
If you discount Felicity Smoak, you do so at your own peril. Because this whip-smart young woman has something to say about the role of women in technology, and what she’s saying has sparked debate not just in Silicon Valley. 

Of course, if you talk to Ms. Smoak, you might be surprised that she’s got so many people angry at her. Because she’s just downright bubbly. The enthusiasm just flows out of her, helped by her hand gestures and bright eyes. Whether she’s talking about upcoming superhero movies (“I’m really glad Marvel is choosing a less well-known character like Iron Man to test the waters--I think it’s going to be a great movie!”) or Mac vs. PC (“Neither, actually--don’t get me wrong, they both have their good points, and I’m a long-standing defender of Windows, but for a power user like me, Linux is the only answer.”), she doesn’t shy away from revealing what she thinks. 

XXX

Her arms were ready to give out on her, thanks to the three bags of groceries and all the letters that had filled her mailbox to bursting, particularly since she was fumbling for her keys. 

But it didn’t matter, because Felicity could barely feel the pain. She was on top of the world!

She knew that _Treehouse_ was a good book. The best that she had ever written, she thought, and Laurel had agreed. But the reaction that the book was getting, even before it had been published . . . it was everything she could have hoped to experience. 

It wasn’t the acclaim and positions on the best-seller lists that she was after, though. Those things were nice--an ego boost if and when they happened, sure, especially when she thought about all the years she had spent being ignored and mocked and overlooked. But what really mattered were the letters she got, the emails and Tweets and blog posts, from women like her: webmasters, graphic designers, programmers, all kinds of IT girls writing about their experiences, proving that Felicity was on the right track with what she was saying. 

It helped her deal with the trolls who had suddenly come out of the woodwork. The jerks who seemed determined to miss her point and only cared about the figures that supported their own arguments, while insulting her personality and looks. 

Somehow, Felicity got herself into her apartment without dropping anything important, breakable or irreplaceable. She set everything down and shook out her arms, feeling relieved that she had made it. “Go, me!” she said softly, grinning a little as she took a quick scan of her mail. 

With how much mail she was getting, she would have to look into getting a post office box, she thought idly as she went through the envelopes, casually sorting everything into piles. The large manila envelope with the return address from her agency made Felicity give a little hop of excitement before she snatched it up and tore open the flap. This had to be the details about her upcoming tour!

Book tours were about the only non-writing part of being an author that she loved as much as writing. Because it was more about meeting fans for her than anything else. Sure, there were interviews and speaking engagements, but it was all in the service of getting to talk to people. 

Felicity yanked the papers out of the envelope, skipping the cover letter to go straight to the tour schedule. But she only read the first entry before she felt her eyes widening. She went digging through the papers, looking for the cover letter as she pressed her thumb hard against Laurel’s contact on her phone. 

Because there was no way in hell that she was going to do a book signing with Oliver Queen!

It felt like centuries before Laurel picked up. “Felicity, just hear me out--”

“I refuse!” Felicity said in ringing tones, feeling like a heroine in a black and white film--all she needed was a completely impractical dress and a big hat. “I refuse, Laurel! I cannot do a book signing with Oliver Queen--do you know what his signings are like? You don’t live in Starling City, you don’t see how the local press has been covering him, like he’s a one-man three-ring circus of debauchery! That’s the kind of company you think my book deserves? I refuse!”

“Felicity!” 

Laurel might not have a Loud Voice like Felicity’s, but her agent sure knew how to get someone’s attention. Felicity silently winced as her teeth clacked together. 

“I understand that there’s not a lot of overlap between your audience and Oliver Queen’s, Felicity,” Laurel began, speaking slowly and enunciating each word carefully. “Or any, really,” she admitted, reading Felicity’s mind. “But, that doesn’t mean it’s a bad idea. After all, you both live in Starling City, you’re both published by Ex Astris, and The Frat Boy Way is on Publisher’s Weekly best-seller list.”

_AKA the best-seller list that didn’t count since it isn’t the New York Times_ , Felicity thought snarkily, even as her logical side reminded her that none of her books had ever made any best-seller list. 

“It’s one night, Felicity. You probably won’t even have that much interaction with Oliver--he’ll be at one end of the room, you’ll be at the other. A few minutes of small talk, a few pictures, and boom, you’re all done. And you’ll get a ton of press out of this signing, because God knows Oliver Queen attracts reporters like honey attracts bees.” 

“I hate bees, Laurel,” Felicity said, sighing softly. “But there’s no way to get out of this, is there?” 

Through the phone, Felicity heard Laurel tap a few keys. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, less clipped and forceful. “Is this about that blog post you wrote? After you read his book?” 

“Yes? No? Kinda?” 

“Kinda?” Laurel said, sounding amused. “Do I need to dust off law school and start cross-examining you?” 

Felicity shuddered. “No, please, I’ll talk.” She paused, looking for some way to phrase-- “I’ve done everything I can to avoid meeting Oliver Queen, not just because I trashed his book while also saying he could be a good writer, because he really could--if you read that silly book you can see the potential, it’s hiding like truffles and I felt like a pig, nosing through a lot of you-know-what--and I’ve been having dreams about him.” 

And there was the babble, Felicity thought as the words poured out of her mouth. She just couldn’t help it--her brain moved so much faster than her tongue, which was something with how fast she could talk, and sometimes it was like something short-circuited and it made all the words go directly from her brain and out her mouth. 

Fortunately, Laurel didn’t get too annoyed with this habit, although Felicity always pictured her agent as rubbing her eyes in exhaustion as she listened to Felicity’s rambling confessions. 

Although maybe not this time, because Laurel’s voice was full of interest when she spoke. “You’ve been having dreams about Oliver Queen? That’s not exactly shocking, since you’re straight and female and he’s ridiculously attractive and a billionaire.”

The amount of heat in her cheeks was enough to melt the ice caps, Felicity thought in embarrassment. Because yes, it wasn’t shocking to have one sweaty, naughty, tangled-up-in-the-sheets dream about Oliver Queen. Or six of them. It . . . it was the other dreams she kept having--the sweet, tender, morning-after-cuddling dreams--that were really mind-blowing. 

Because Oliver Queen? Most definitely not a cuddler. And the fact that her subconscious brain was choosing to go in that direction clearly indicated how long it had been since she had spent time outside this apartment, being social with male-type people, let alone since she had slept with one of those male-type people. 

Making a split-second decision that she had already embarrassed herself enough today, Felicity chose to hold back about those dreams. “You know me, Laurel. I’m going to meet him and I’ll say something about his abs being worth giving thanks on my rare visits to temple and it’ll be all over. I’ll be a laughingstock.” 

“How do you know his abs are worth giving thanks to God?” Laurel asked curiously. 

“Because he’s Oliver Queen and he’s everywhere now,” Felicity replied, rolling her eyes. “Like you said, I live in Starling City. You can’t help seeing his abs--you’re in line at the grocery store and bam, there they are, all over the magazine rack. Every month.” 

Laurel let out a small snort. “Must be nice,” she said breezily, before her voice grew serious. “I understand wanting to avoid the embarrassment, but this signing could be good for you, Felicity. It gives you another dimension. Something that might head off some of the letters you’ve been getting.” 

“Letters?” Felicity repeated, looking in confusion at the teetering stack of mail, which was on the verge of falling off her kitchen table. “What letters?” 

There was a long pause, like Laurel was picking her words carefully. “There’s been a few letters that have been sent to the agency and to Ex Astris. Letters that make it clear the sender doesn’t like your book very much.” 

“Oh,” Felicity said, feeling a strange niggle of worry. “But the book hasn’t even come out yet . . .” 

“You’ve been getting a lot of attention from the mainstream press. The Time cover story is just the tip of the iceberg of what’s coming, Felicity. I’m not saying you need to get a bodyguard or learn how to use a gun or anything,” Laurel said quickly. “I’m just saying, doing an appearance with Oliver Queen, the kind of guy that these letter writers would worship, could be . . . beneficial.” 

Her knees were definitely feeling a bit watery as she slowly sat down in one of her kitchen chairs. Felicity gripped her phone tightly as she looked around her apartment. At her kitchen with the cheery red appliances. At her living room, dominated by the entertainment center stocked with TV show DVDs and overflowing bookcases. And her bed nook, piled high with blankets and fluffy pillows and with a yoga mat for a bedside rug. 

Was there someone, right now, sitting in their own apartment, hating her? Not just annoyed with her views or disagreeing with her book’s conclusions, but actively and passionately _hating_ her? Her, Felicity Meghan Smoak? 

“If--if you’re trying to scare me, it’s working,” Felicity said softly. 

“I’m not, Felicity,” Laurel said, her voice fierce. “But as your agent, this is part of my job: to tell you about the things you might not be aware of.” She sighed softly. “I just have a bad feeling about these letters, but there’s not enough in them for us to call the police. So I just want you to be careful, okay? And to do the signing.” 

Felicity licked her lips. “You mostly want me to do the signing, though, to benefit the book, right?” 

“Exactly,” Laurel said. “Ninety-eight percent of this is about getting your book around people that wouldn’t normally pick it up. And some of the people at this signing will be movers and shakers, people that matter. It’s to help your book, I swear, Felicity.” 

Closing her eyes, Felicity rubbed at them, wishing for once she had worn her glasses today instead of contacts. She took a few deep breaths and squared her shoulders. If Laurel was just feeling these letters were a little off, but that there wasn’t enough in them to call the police, then she must be right. After all, she was the daughter of a police captain; Laurel knew what she was talking about. So worrying and getting scared wasn’t productive. What was productive was having the chance to meet people who were interested in her book.

When she spoke, she tried to sound confident. “If there’s some kind of agency pool about me embarrassing myself in front of Oliver Queen, I fully expect the winner to give me a cut.” 

Laurel’s laugh sounded relieved. “I won’t confirm or deny anything. But I will say my money’s on you, Felicity. Maybe everything will go perfectly and everyone will lose their stake.” 

“And maybe I’ll be donating my share of the winnings to Starling City’s STEM camp for teenage girls,” Felicity joked, even as she took another look around the apartment that suddenly didn’t feel quite so safe and cozy anymore. 

XXX

As he pulled up in front of the Queen mansion, Oliver let out a sigh. He was only home for a few hours: enough time to shower, shave, change his clothes and then get back into the city. Most of the day had been spent doing yet another round of press and some boring legal paperwork about something called ancillary rights, and tonight was about hitting all the hottest clubs with Tommy, getting his name in the paper yet again. 

Such was the perils of being Ollie Queen: author by day, playboy by night. 

It was all starting to wear on him a bit. He couldn’t help feeling that this double life thing wasn’t for him. But it surprised him which one of his identities he’d drop if he could. 

Because lately, more and more often, he just wanted to stay home at night and sit in front of his computer. To give in to the way his fingers wanted to move over the keyboard, to just . . . let out what he was thinking and feeling, even if no one ever saw it. Especially if no one saw it. 

But he couldn’t do that. It would just cause too many questions. Tommy was already confused by those times when his enthusiasm for partying was lacking. If he started cutting back on making the rounds, Tommy would push Oliver to open up. To tell him why. And even though Tommy was his best friend . . . now there was distance between them. Ever since he had found out Tommy had set up a Twitter account to tell thousands of people about his most frat bro-est moments and utterances. 

Pushing open the door to his Audi, Oliver told himself to move on. Tommy had assured him it had all started in the name of fun. And it was working out pretty well for Oliver, so what was the big deal? 

Even as he climbed up the stairs to the front door, trying to act like the same old Ollie, it gnawed on him a little. But Tommy Merlyn was his best friend, the person who knew Oliver better than himself sometimes. And Tommy was right in saying it was too late to be crying over spilled milk. 

Fortunately, the sight of his sister made pushing aside that annoying knot of weird feelings a lot easier. 

“Hey, Speedy,” he said, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. “Getting ready to go break some hearts?” 

“Oh, yeah, all of Starling’s gonna be so sad that I’m staying in tonight to study for my Spanish test,” Thea said, rolling her eyes and injecting a healthy dose of world-weary attitude into her voice. But since she was only twelve, she shot him a grin and blushed a tiny bit. 

“Need any help?”

Thea snorted. “I don’t think I’ll need to know what’s Spanish for ‘donkey show,’ Ollie.” 

His eyes narrowed. “How the hell do you know what a donkey show is?” 

“Ask your best friend,” Thea said, gesturing at Tommy, who was walking in the front door as if he lived there--which wasn’t far from the truth. 

“It’s not my fault, unless it is,” Tommy said, walking over and ruffling Thea’s hair.

“Could you please hold off on corrupting my baby sister until she’s older? Like fifty?” Oliver asked sharply. 

Tommy took a step back from Thea, giving Oliver a long look. “Hey, Speedy, you mind letting me steal your brother for a while?” 

Although he didn’t look away from Tommy, Oliver sensed that Thea’s eyes were moving back and forth between the two of them, clearly curious about what was going on. “Sure,” she said slowly before kissing Oliver’s cheek quickly and heading into the lounge.

Thea was barely out of earshot before Tommy rounded on Oliver. “Okay, what the hell is going on with you?”

“I just don’t want you saying crap like that to my twelve-year-old sister!” 

“I’m not talking about that,” Tommy said with a huff. “Dude, you seem like you care less about partying, you go all quiet for no reason, and you’ve barely looked at any of the women who keep throwing themselves at you. So what gives?”

Oliver opened his mouth, then pressed his lips together. He wasn’t going to dump his issues on Tommy, not like this. Tommy was too big a part of Oliver’s life for him to just lose his cool and start a fight, a fight he didn’t really want to have. 

And his best friend was kind of right. His heart hadn’t been in the partying lately. But that wasn’t Tommy’s fault.

“I know, I know,” Oliver said, pasting a sheepish smile on his face and trying to at least tell Tommy part of the truth. “I’m sorry, I’m just wrecked. I keep having to get up at the ass crack of dawn to do book stuff, so when it’s time to start partying, I’m ready to go to bed. To sleep,” he said, cutting off the wise crack he could see Tommy forming. 

Proving that he really was a good guy, Tommy nodded and clapped Oliver on the shoulder. “You want me to pick up some of the slack with the book? Half the time your agent sends me the same emails she sends you. Maybe I should do more of that.” 

“You’d do that for me?” Oliver knew the surprise was obvious in his voice, but he wasn’t expecting Tommy to step up like this. Neither of them had ever been the most organized guys around, but Tommy did have a knack for maintaining schedules and making plans. Partying plans, yeah, but they were still plans. 

“Sure,” Tommy said with a shrug and a grin. “Clubbing is no fun without my wingman being in it to win it.” 

He smiled slowly. “I’m sorry. I thought you were _my_ wingman.” 

Tommy snorted. “Keep telling yourself that, Queen.” He gave Oliver a mock punch in the shoulder. “I can get started now--I’m sure your email is a mess.” 

Rolling his eyes, Oliver headed up the stairs towards his room. “Who was the one who figured out how to get past the filters and find the online porn when we were twelve?” 

“You did that by accident when you dropped a can of soda on the keyboard!” Tommy protested. 

“But it was still me who got us in,” Oliver said, grinning at Tommy. Once they were in his room, he waved his hand over at the pre-public release MacBook Air sitting on his desk. “Go to town. My password is saved or something--I just go to Google Mail and it opens up. I’m gonna shower.” 

“Might want to shave, too. You’re getting a little mountain man there, Ollie.” 

Oliver laughed. “Jealous?” Tommy had always been bitter that he couldn’t pull off the stubble look. 

“Go or I’ll see what kind of incriminating material you have on here,” Tommy said, leaning back in his chair to grin at him. 

Because he knew it was an idle threat, Oliver just smirked a little and headed into the en suite bathroom, a spring in his step. Having Tommy’s help would definitely lift some of the load off him. And maybe . . . maybe seeing what he had gotten Oliver into would make Tommy realize just what he had done. At least now Oliver could have his cake and eat it too: plenty of partying while staying on top of all the crap he had to do for the book. 

He found himself whistling as he finished his shower and shaved, taking the time to make sure there was no stubble. Tonight felt like a night where a lack of face prickliness would yield ample rewards. And he was definitely feeling like being rewarded--perhaps by a blonde. It’d been a while since he’d slept with a blonde, as his tastes normally ran to brunettes. 

When he stepped out of the bathroom, feeling that almost-forgotten tingle he always used to get before a night of drinking and sex, it was to the sight of Tommy scribbling notes as he tapped away on the computer. 

“So, what’s the verdict?” Oliver asked, dropping into a chair beside Tommy. 

“I’m actually shocked. You’re not too bad at this, buddy.” Tommy grinned. “You’ve got some signings coming up, bunch of press requests, and a few emails from agent what’s-her-name.” 

“Isabel,” Oliver supplied, tilting his chair back onto two legs. 

Tommy nodded and looked at Oliver for a moment, his grin becoming more of a smirk. “I did discover something interesting.” 

“What, that my trust fund bigger than yours?” Oliver joked, until he realized that Tommy was actually kind of serious. He lowered his chair. “What?”

“You’ve got a signing in a few days, one that you’re sharing with another author. One Felicity Smoak?” Tommy’s eyebrows were raised. “The name sounded familiar, so I went to pull up Google and ta-da.” 

Oliver felt his stomach tighten as Tommy turned the laptop around to show him a screen full of bookmarks to articles by and about one Felicity Meghan Smoak. 

“You researched the chick who wrote that blog post!” Tommy said, grinning again. “Awww, Ollie’s got a crush.” 

“I do not,” Oliver said immediately, realizing after the words had left his mouth and Tommy’s grin grew even bigger that he had spoken a little too fast. “I was just curious. C’mon, you know what she looks like--did you expect someone who looks like a librarian to actually have anything good to say about the book?” 

“Nope,” Tommy said. “Which is gonna make this signing fun.” 

Standing up, Oliver went to his closet to find some clothes. And to get away from Tommy’s all-knowing eyes. “I just . . . I was curious. That’s all, because I remembered her name, like you did, so . . .” Feeling like he had gotten his blank expression in place, he turned to look at Tommy. 

His best friend didn’t look totally sold, but he just shrugged and nodded. “Okay. Hey, so, I had this idea and I think it’s genius. We should totally combine partying with you writing another _Frat Boy Way_ book. Four words: free trip to Thailand. We could say you’re doing research and totally live it up in Phuket for a few weeks.”

It was a great idea, really. So great that Oliver just had to nod and make noises of agreement as Tommy explained all the details of the trip he was imagining. And Oliver was grateful for that, because it let him focus on getting ready for tonight. For the partying that he was having to work himself up for now, when he had been more than ready to enjoy some debauchery just a few minutes ago. 

Because one mention of Felicity Smoak knocked him off his axis. Because it made him remember what she had said about him, made him think about those articles he’d read about her, made him wonder just how this signing was going to go. 

And Oliver didn’t understand why. He’d told himself to stop thinking about it, to stop thinking about _her_ , and worry about meeting her and the signing when it happened. Ignoring the future for the present had always worked for him in the past. But it was proving to be less than effective this time around. 

So he made himself pay attention to Tommy’s Phuket trip idea and nothing else. Maybe tonight he could find someone who’d want to come along, someone fun. Someone up for a few weeks of no-strings-attached sex with Ollie Queen, billionaire playboy, while they lazed around one of the most beautiful places on Earth. 

Someone who wouldn’t get ideas about him. 

End, Chapter 2


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-da, Oliver and Felicity finally meet! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Lemme tell you, these two are adorably slippery. Their first meeting almost slid into the next chapter, but I didn’t want to make everyone wait that long--especially not when the reaction to this story has been so wonderful!

Publisher’s Weekly Bestseller List, Week of December 3, 2007  
 **Top Hardcover Nonfiction**  
#10: _The Frat Boy Way: Life and Women According to the World’s Most Successful Frat Boy’s Twitter Account_  
Last Week: #7  
Weeks on List: 11  
Oliver Queen, Author.  
Ex Astris/Penguin

New York Times Best-seller List, December 2, 2007  
 **Hardcover Nonfiction**  
#6: _Invading the Treehouse: Why Women Are Needed in Technology_ by Felicity Smoak (Ex Astris)  
Weeks on List: 1

Channel 52 News at 10, December 7, 2007  
 **Anchor** : And tonight, book lovers turned out for a joint book signing and party for two of Starling City’s best-selling authors. We go now to Jennifer Brown, who’s live with Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak.

XXX

God, why had she let Laurel talk her into this? She should have held firm, should have kept up with “I refuse!” until her agent had accepted that Felicity Smoak stuck to her convictions. That she could stand as firm as the Rock of Gibraltar. 

Instead, here she was, trying to get the mess of flyaways escaping her bun smoothed down and wondering if her dress was too . . . not enough. Yes, she knew the magazines and style shows said you could never go wrong with a little black dress, but tonight--tonight, she’d have to hold her own against Oliver Queen. And she wasn’t sure she could do that in this dress. 

Honestly, she wasn’t sure she could do that in any dress. 

Not that she should attend tonight’s signing naked--although that would definitely get her more attention than Oliver Queen, Felicity thought dryly. But she doubted there was a dress that existed that would make her, a card-carrying member of Mensa with an inclination to babble, into someone who belonged in the circles that Oliver Queen moved in. The circles that would be at the signing tonight. The circles that she needed to impress. 

This--this was the kind of pressure that made her feel like failure was inevitable. Give her a test to study for, give her a computer system she had to get into, give her a deadline she had to meet, and she was your girl. But having to be charming and elegant and gracious, picking the right thing to say and knowing just how much to say . . . that was not in Felicity Smoak’s wheelhouse. Not when her real self made her stand out in all the wrong ways.

And definitely not when her weapons were a boring black dress and frizzy hair instead of her tablet. 

Felicity jammed another hairpin into her bun, only to yank her hand away with a gasp as the pin sank into the fleshy part of her thumb. Her sudden movements upset the mass of pins holding her thick hair in place, sending it tumbling around her shoulders. And at the same moment, there was a knock on her door. 

Taking a deep breath, Felicity leaned her hands against the bathroom counter, trying to collect herself. Trying not to give in to the desire to change into her pajamas, open a bottle of wine and spend some quality time with her Netflix queue. 

Whoever was at the door knocked again, and Felicity straightened up. “Coming!” she called out, trudging to the door. Normally she didn’t keep delivery men waiting, but she wasn’t expecting anything.

But she still pasted on her best version of a friendly smile when she opened the door. “Yes?”

“Felicity Smoak?” the delivery man asked, reading from a clipboard. After she nodded, he held the clipboard out to her. “Sign here.” 

Confused, Felicity scrawled her name and handed it back to him, exchanging it for the box he held out to her. “This is for me?” 

“That’s what it says here,” the delivery man said, waving the clipboard in the air. “Have a good evening.” 

She stared at the box for a moment, then looked up quickly and blurted, “Thank you!” to the delivery man’s back. Closing the door, she looked back at the package and its return address, wondering what Laurel had sent her. 

And since she didn’t have X-ray vision, the only way to find out the answer to that question was to open the box. 

Slowly, Felicity unwrapped the brown paper, revealing a rectangular box with a piece of paper taped to the top. 

_Felicity: I thought you might need something to give you a bit of courage. And these will be a lot better than a feather. Laurel_

A Dumbo reference? She wouldn’t have pegged Laurel as a Disney fan, but then, she had always thought the genius of Disney animation was how universal the stories were, crossing lines and bringing people together and--she lifted the lid and gasped. 

They were shoes. 

Four-inch heels, when she didn’t normally wear anything higher than kitten heels. Pointy toes, which she always thought were uncomfortable. Black at the toes and a pinky-purple at the heel and all covered in coarse glitter, shimmering even in the dim lighting of her apartment. 

And on the insole was the name Jimmy Choo. 

The box hit the floor as her fingers suddenly stopped working, unable to hold it anymore. 

Courage? Laurel thought this work of art that masqueraded as shoes would give her courage? She would need courage just to put them on! 

And wow, being a literary agent must pay way better than Felicity had ever imagined, if Laurel had the money to give her designer shoes.

Which was completely beside the point right now, Felicity told herself, swallowing. No, the point was . . . she now had something that would help her fit in. Something that would matter to the kind of people who would be at the signing, who would judge her based on her appearance. With these shoes, she might just pass muster, even in her boring black dress. 

Felicity felt her lips quirk up in a small smile and her shoulders straighten. 

Leaning down, she reverently lifted the shoes from the box and set them on the floor. Kicking off the black pumps she was wearing, Felicity slid first one foot, than the other, into the shoes. As she rose, she almost thought she heard a choir of heavenly voices begin to sing. And when she took a few steps, she felt like she was walking on air. 

“Much better than a feather,” Felicity whispered, turning from side to side and looking at her feet as if they weren’t her own. 

A shrill beeping from her cell phone made her jump. That was the alarm she had set earlier, the one that told her when she needed to leave to be on time. 

So she had to hurry to finish getting ready if she didn’t want to be more than fashionably late. 

XXX

He was on time. 

Oliver Queen was never on time. But tonight . . . tonight, he had made sure of that. Even when Tommy had mocked him for it, he wanted to be here right at the start of the signing. 

Tugging on his shirt cuffs, Oliver looked around the large private room of one of Starling City’s most popular restaurants, located on the fortieth floor of a downtown building. The floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the skyline, all twinkling lights against the darkness of evening. There was a quiet hum as the servers and bartenders did their final prep, moving around the high-top tables in the middle of the room. 

At each end of the room, there were long tables. On one of the tables were copies of his book, with its stupid cover, and a poster-sized version of his author photo on a easel by the table. The same setup, only with Felicity Smoak’s book and photo, was at the far end of the room. 

With a quick glance over his shoulder, seeing Tommy at the bar and attempting to charm the female bartender, Oliver moved over towards the photo of Felicity Smoak. The larger size gave him the ability to really examine it--to examine her. 

Once again, he was struck by the something in her eyes. A spark that she was trying to hide . . . or bury. He didn’t know, but the more he looked for it, the more he wanted to know if it was really there. 

A hand slapped his shoulder and Oliver turned to see Tommy behind him, a glass in his other hand. “I’d expect you to be checking out that bartender’s skills. And ordering a drink,” Tommy said, waggling his eyebrows. “But here you are, entranced with the nerd.” He gestured towards Felicity’s author photo. 

“Entranced? Did someone give you a word-of-the-day calendar?” Oliver joked, remembering that he had to be himself tonight. He had to be Ollie the Frat Boy. 

Tommy snorted, but fortunately he changed the subject. “So there’s gonna be a bunch of press here tonight, including TV. Channel 52 is doing a live report, even. So let’s get a drink, loosen up before we get down to business.” 

Oliver nodded and grinned a little, trying to act normal. In spite of his still-unresolved feelings about how this had all started, about what Tommy had done, he was glad that his best friend was here and supporting him. Unlike his parents, who had staunchly avoided giving any sign that they approved of what he was doing. 

Well, his mother seemed happy. At least that was what he had picked up earlier tonight, eavesdropping on her conversation with his father. 

_“This is a good thing, Robert. Perhaps Oliver is finally starting to understand what he wants to do--maybe he’s finally going to grow up, stop partying and getting into trouble.”_

_“By writing books that put his partying and trouble-making skills on full display?” The snort that came from Robert’s throat was deep, his voice full of scorn. “If he wants to grow up, he should take his place at Queen Consolidated.”_

_“Robert . . .” Moira sounded placating. Oliver could just imagine her standing in front of Robert, her hands on his forearms, looking up at him. “He’s still so young. He has plenty of time to sow his wild oats, and if he does, then he’ll be better equipped to take over as CEO, whenever that day comes.”_

_A heavy sigh, and then Robert spoke again. “You’ve always understood him better than I have.”_

_“I have years of experience in dealing with difficult men named Queen,” Moira said, a lilt in her voice. “Let him have a bit more time, Robert.”_

_“Fine, Moira. We can indulge him in this, but we also need to make clear that he’s on a short leash.” There was a soft noise, then footsteps. Oliver stepped back quickly, trying to make it appear he hadn’t been listening. Hadn’t heard exactly what his parents thought of him._

“Earth to Ollie!” 

He turned and looked at Tommy. Suddenly, he wanted to be exactly who everyone thought he was: the screw-up, the playboy, the douchebag who never called when he said he would. The guy who couldn’t be depended on and wasn’t anything special. 

Lifting the drink from Tommy’s hand, he threw it back. “I’m ready to try out that bartender. And get more of this.” He held up the glass and smirked at his best friend.

“Just in time,” Tommy said, gesturing to the doors that were being opened and the people beginning to file into the room. 

Oliver nodded, turning on his heel and going towards the bar. He was there, starting his second drink, when the event planner found him. “Oliver, wonderful, you’re here. I have to admit, you were the one I was worried would be late, not Felicity.” 

“Keep it down, we wouldn’t want word of my punctuality getting out,” Oliver said, looking at the statuesque Hispanic woman--a woman he thought he might have slept with at some point. So he turned on the smile and shrugged his shoulders. “So are we gonna get started without her or--” 

The buzz of conversation went up a notch and the planner turned towards the doors. “Oh, thank goodness, there she is!” 

Blinking, Oliver watched as she scurried across the room, towards a rapidly-growing clump of people surrounding a brunette woman. 

And just like that, he knew he hadn’t drunk enough yet. Because he felt his palms begin to sweat and his mouth go dry as he realized that Felicity Smoak was here. 

XXX

**On-Site Reporter** : Thank you, Bethany. One of Starling’s favorite sons and one of her newest celebrities came together tonight, to be honored for their common achievements: books that are climbing the bestseller lists and creating discussion--and controversy. 

By now, you’ve all heard about Oliver Queen’s book, _The Frat Boy Way_. The heir to the Queen billions has been tireless in his promotion of what we all hope is the first of many books. 

[clips of Oliver charming people as he signs books for them]

Oliver Queen: I sure hope to keep writing. Go international, even, show my fellow frat boys the best places in the world to party, where to meet the hottest women. There’s still a lot to cover. 

On-Site Reporter: Meanwhile, Felicity Smoak has garnered nothing but acclaim for her previous books. Her new book, _Invading the Treehouse_ , debuted at number six on the _New York Times_ best-seller list, and with those sales has come tremendous attention for what she has to say about the role of women in the tech industry, and in society as a whole.

[clips of Felicity talking intently with various people] 

Felicity Smoak: I wrote this book to spotlight the amazing women in my field, the women who aren’t getting ahead. Since my book was published, so many women have reached out, telling me their own stories. The idea that I could be helping them makes it easy for me to take any heat from the critics who don’t like what I’m saying.

XXX

Somehow, with all her worrying about making a good impression on the people at tonight’s signing, she had forgotten just who would be here. 

Which was ridiculous, really. Because how could someone forget that they were going to come face-to-face with the man you said had potential as a writer, the man about whom you had experienced several naughty and non-naughty dreams? 

Felicity Smoak, that’s who.

Yet that was just what Felicity realized as the event planner made her way through the crowd that had immediately surrounded her as soon as Felicity had entered the room. 

“Felicity, you’re here! Great we can get started, since Oliver has been waiting for you to arrive.” 

“He--he has?” She must have misheard or misunderstood the planner, who had taken Felicity’s elbow and was moving her towards a table that seemed to be groaning under the weight of many, many copies of her book. 

The planner ignored her. “Now, my assistant Asa has your preferred color Sharpies, he’ll get you anything you’d like to drink and just be your gofer. Oliver’s got his friend Tommy to help him, and I’ll be moving back and forth, troubleshooting any problems.” She led Felicity to a chair and snapped her fingers at a slightly overweight young man. “Here’s Asa, you’re in good hands with him, Felicity.” 

“Oh,” Felicity said, looking at Asa and doing her best to act like she was completely used to this. “Hi, Asa. Thanks for your help.” 

“You’re very welcome, Miss Smoak,” Asa said quickly, producing a handful of magenta Sharpies. “Can I get you anything to drink or eat?” 

“Um, a water, please?” He turned to go, and Felicity quickly caught his arm. “Wait, a red wine, too, please. Thank you.” 

Asa nodded and scurried off, as if getting her a glass of wine and a bottle of water was his highest priority. It was very sweet of him--and it made Felicity understand that this was going to be different from her other book signings. 

A loud metallic tapping sounded through the room’s speakers, quieting the conversations of the beautiful and powerful elite. The planner, whose name Felicity couldn’t remember, stood in the middle of the room holding a microphone. She smiled widely. “Good evening! Welcome to this celebration of Ex Astris and our very special Starling City authors, Felicity Smoak . . .”

The planner paused as the crowd broke into applause. Felicity felt her cheeks go pink, and as the clapping kept going, she quickly stood up long enough to give a little wave to everyone, hoping she looked graceful and appreciative instead of awkward and dismissive. 

“And Oliver Queen!” the planner finished, touching off another round of applause. Felicity sucked in a breath and looked across the room.

He clearly didn’t have any worries about looking awkward. He rose to his feet and grinned, raising his glass and toasting everyone before tipping his head back and draining his drink. 

That . . . that was just too sexy, Felicity thought dimly, trying not to stare. To her shock, his eyes met hers as he lowered his head, blue on blue and full of something she didn’t understand. He held her gaze for a long moment before he took his seat. 

Felicity blinked. What--what the hell? 

“Here you go, Miss Smoak: a red wine and a water. I think we’re ready to get started,” Asa said, appearing at her elbow and causing her to jump. 

“Y-yes, yes. Of course,” she said, watching as Asa briskly set her wine and water down, close at hand but in no danger of being knocked over. Then he placed the Sharpies in front of her and stepped back as the first person in line approached Felicity. 

And with a fan in front of her, Felicity made herself push any thoughts of Oliver Queen away. At every event, no matter what was going on in her head, the fans were the focus. It was the same tonight: the person in front of her mattered. Not Oliver Queen. 

So even though there were moments that she was sure he was watching her, Felicity forced herself to not look at him. To keep her eyes locked on the fans in front of her. 

Okay, so she _did_ look a few times. She was human, after all, and Oliver Queen . . . wow. Even at this distance, he looked better than he did in his author photo. The thought of actually being even closer to him was enough to make butterflies break out in her stomach. But whenever they started fluttering, she did her best to spray them with bug killer and regain her focus. 

Were butterflies bugs? She would have to check later.

She signed for what felt like hours, pausing frequently to wiggle her fingers and make sure her hands didn’t cramp. She talked so much that if it hadn’t been for Asa steadily refilling her water glass throughout the evening, she would sound like a phone sex operator. And God, please don’t let her think about that when she finally met Oliver. Mr. Queen. Whatever! 

Gradually, the crowd was satisfied, everyone who wanted a copy of her book receiving their personalized, autographed copies. The music changed from jazz and standards to more upbeat, dance-party music. Felicity could see people starting to dance, saw the lines at the bar seemingly double in the blink of an eye. 

The signing was transitioning into a party. And that meant it was time for this Cinderella to get home. 

“Felicity! How are you doing?” The planner suddenly appeared beside her, gesturing for Felicity to stand. 

“Good--great, actually,” Felicity said, smiling as she rose from the chair. “Is there any way I can have Asa as my right-hand man all the time? He was wonderful; thank you so much.”

“You’re very welcome,” the planner said, tucking her hand into the crook of Felicity’s arm, like they were best friends. She hadn’t been expecting that, but Felicity rolled with it, getting ready to ask when she could leave. 

Before she could get another word out, the planner gently tugged on her arm, leading Felicity towards the bar and easily breezing to the head of the line, past everyone waiting. “Let’s get you a quick drink, then we can deal with the press. Once that’s done, we can all cut loose and enjoy ourselves.” 

Sweeping her eyes over the room, Felicity quipped, “It looks like everyone jumped the gun on that one.” 

With a laugh, the planner handed Felicity another glass of red wine. “True, this crowd isn’t very serious. But it’s been a good night! C’mon, let’s get you and Oliver together.” 

The sip of wine went down the wrong pipe, making Felicity cough a few times. Once she had caught her breath, Felicity nodded. “Yes. Yes, let’s get together--I mean, I’m looking forward to meeting him.” 

“So is every woman here,” the planner said, winking at Felicity. She turned to scan the room, then dragged Felicity towards a group of people. “Oliver!” she called out as they approached. “Come meet Felicity.” 

And as Felicity got her first good look at Oliver Queen from up close, it was like choking on a thousand sips of wine all at once.

XXX

“Oliver! Come meet Felicity.” 

Showtime. 

Time to be Ollie, the charming cad. Give her a little flattery, a bit of a leer, and send her on her way. She probably had an opera to attend, after all, since she was a real writer. 

No need for her, or anyone else, to know that when their eyes had met from across the room when they had been introduced, he had known he was right. There was something about her, something that she didn’t even realize she had, and God help the world when she figured it out. Because Felicity Smoak could have the whole world in the palm of her hand. 

But all these thoughts weren’t very Ollie, so he buried them as deep as he could as he turned around. 

And . . . shit. Because she didn’t look that much like a librarian tonight. But he couldn’t explain how, just like he couldn’t explain why his heart had thudded in his chest at the sight of her. 

Even with her sparkly heels, Felicity Smoak was short. Her dress wasn’t anything special, just black and sleeveless. And her dark hair wasn’t perfectly smooth and straight, but hung about her shoulders like she had taken it down right before she had arrived here tonight. 

None of that seemed to matter, though. Not when he looked into those eyes of hers, blue like his but not at all like his. No, her eyes had something that he’d never seen in his own. 

And damn it, he was staring at her like a boy with a crush. Straightening up a little, he ran his eyes over her slowly before meeting her gaze and seeing the color flood her face. “Hi, there,” he said, making sure he sounded as smarmy as possible. “Ollie Queen.” 

“Not Oliver?”

“What?” he said, leaning in towards her. Not that he really needed to, the music wasn’t that loud, but it was all part of the plan. 

Her lips parted as he got close to her, then he saw her swallow. “On the cover of your book, it says Oliver. Not Ollie.” 

“Well, only the people closest to me get to call me Ollie.” He reached out, lightly resting his fingertips on her shoulder near her neck and holding her close. “My family . . . my friends . . . really gorgeous women . . .” He let his voice trail off, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

She blinked, looking adorably confused. But then she laughed a little and shrugged, which knocked his hand from her shoulder. Her head tilted to the side as she gave him a look that screamed, “really, buster?” 

Before he could regroup, Tommy stepped up beside him. “Hey, Ollie--”

“Is he family or a friend, since he’s not a gorgeous woman?” Felicity asked, gesturing towards Tommy. “Not that he isn’t gorgeous in his own way--dark hair and blue eyes, really good combo, and congrats to you for winning that genetic lottery--but he definitely isn’t a woman from what I can see . . . and wow, my agent was so wrong.” 

Now it was Oliver’s turn to blink and look confused. Because that’s what he was--confused. Confused and perplexed and maybe a little bit jealous, because . . . because why the hell was she noticing _Tommy_ instead of him, with how Oliver had been flirting with her? 

Felicity pressed her lips together, drawing his attention to the dark red lipstick that was carefully applied to her mouth. Tommy, the traitor, was grinning widely. “Let me guess: Felicity Smoak?” 

“That’s me, every babbling inch,” she said, giving Tommy a small smile. “Hi.” She then turned to Oliver, looking nervous. “Sorry to interrupt, and it’s nice to meet you, Oliver. I was just going to go--” 

“You can’t go yet,” Tommy interjected. “Channel 52 wants to get interviews with both of you--that’s what I was coming to tell you, Ollie.” 

There was a lot of things he should be focusing on, but his mind kept dwelling on one fact: Felicity called him Oliver, after he had told her to call him Ollie. Why would she do that? Was she trying to tell him something? Or was she just being formal without having to resort to calling him ‘Mr. Queen’? And why did he like the sound of his full name coming from those lips of hers?

“Do I have to?” Felicity asked, sounding like a small girl being told to eat her vegetables. But then she gave herself a small shake and tried to smile. “Never mind. Of course I do.” She looked at Oliver. “You’re the expert at being interviewed on TV, and I know it’s normally ‘ladies first’, but would you mind letting them interview you first, so I can watch and learn how not to be so . . . me, on camera?”

God, this was confusing. _She_ was confusing. How could she go from calling him on his shitty lines to asking for his help, so easily and naturally? And why the fuck did he want to help her? To reassure her that she had nothing to worry about and she’d be wonderful? Her insecurity and vulnerability would normally be blood in the water for him, showing him the perfect way to charm his way into her pants. 

But that didn’t seem nearly as interesting as just talking to her. 

“Oh, Ollie’s definitely your white knight, Felicity,” Tommy said, slapping Oliver on the back. “C’mon, just wait until you see the master at work.” 

She fidgeted a little with the glass of red wine in her hands, tapping the nails that matched her lips against the glass, and then looked at Oliver. “It’s really all right with you?” she asked him. 

“Yeah--yeah, sure, of course,” he said, trying to act casual. “I do this all the time.” 

Her smile, which had been hesitant, widened and became genuine. “Thank you. I really want to put my book in the best possible light.” 

“It’s no problem--I mean, you’re welcome,” he corrected himself, all those etiquette lessons suddenly making themselves known. “It’s my pleasure.” 

Felicity tucked some hair behind her ear before she sipped some wine. She was so visibly nervous that Oliver couldn’t help smiling. “How many of those have you had?” he asked, pointing at her glass.

“This is only my second one,” she said, looking anxious. “Why?”

“Because any more and you’ll regret it,” he said. “Water the rest of the night until the interviews are over.” 

A soft laugh escaped her. “Are you implying that I appear to be a lightweight? Because . . . you would be right.” 

He couldn’t help grinning as she kept talking, about how she wasn’t used to heels and even in shoes as pretty as the ones she was wearing, even though they were magic shoes, she would definitely trip if she had another glass of wine and that would be awful, although she didn’t think she would have to worry about tripping over her feet on camera, only tripping over her words, which happened all the time--

And when she finally realized how much she was talking, and how Tommy and Oliver were just watching and listening, Felicity blushed. She drained the rest of her glass of wine and then handed the glass to a passing waiter. “Could I please have a water, when you have a chance?” she asked, ignoring Tommy’s laughter.

But Oliver couldn’t laugh. Even though she was definitely hilarious. Because once she had started talking, he had started wondering if it was true you could shut someone up with a kiss.

End, Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Felicity’s shoes](http://us.jimmychoo.com/en/women/shoes/abel/black-and-tourmaline-coarse-degrade-glitter-pointy-toe-pumps-144abelcgd.html#dwvar_144abelcgd_color=Black/Tourmaline&start=5&cgid=women-shoes-pumps&searchgridpos=5&srule=best-matches), if you wanted to know exactly what the magic shoes look like. :-)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s so much to say, but I’ll hold back on most of it until the end of this chapter. But what needs to be said first and foremost is how appreciative and grateful I am to have so many people reading this fic! It’s thanks to the warm welcome that I’m so eager to keep going with this version of Felicity and Oliver.

On-Site Reporter: Tonight’s event, sponsored by their publisher Ex Astris, was the first time Oliver Queen and Felicity Smoak met each other. What do these two authors think of each other?

[shot of Oliver and Felicity standing next to each other]

Felicity Smoak: Oh . . . I think everyone feels like they know Oliver Queen, because he’s just everywhere here in Starling City and you can’t escape him, not that I would want to escape--but, but reading his book was a really eye-opening experience for me and made me feel like I was getting to know a different side of him. It was . . . surprising. Nice. Surprisingly nice. 

Oliver Queen: I’m really lucky to have gotten to meet Felicity tonight. Not just ‘cause she’s an attractive, funny woman, but because she’s a really talented author and a credit to Starling City and our publisher. So here’s to many more joint signings! 

XXX

Laurel was more right than she realized, Felicity thought as she admired her feet for not the first time that night. High heels were so much better than a feather. 

Because how else could she explain how tonight had gone? 

It could only be thanks to her magic shoes that _Oliver freaking Queen_ had not taken one look at her and laughed at her attempts to be part of the beautiful people crowd, even if it was just for one night. The shoes were the only explanation for how she had managed to act like a grown-up, managed to fit in . . . managed to hold her liquor!

Although at this point she should really slow down. Because even though wine wasn’t exactly body shots, she’d had enough glasses to inch closer from falling from Tipsy Cliff into Drunk Valley. 

Giggling a little, Felicity took a sip of the very good wine she had been enjoying all night, smiling as she moved away from a group of people towards the large windows that looked out over Starling City. She felt like she had just discovered the Internet. That was how good her night was going. 

Oliver’s coaching had let her get through the interviews better than she had thought. Why hadn’t she learned this kind of skill earlier? Or gotten some kind of coaching from Laurel--this was the kind of thing an agent should do, she thought. 

“They’re gonna ask you the same kind of questions over and over, so just figure out an answer and keep repeating it. Change a word here and there, use some different phrases, but stick to the same thing,” he had told her, before demonstrating exactly that in his own interviews. It was really impressive, how he managed to keep giving the same answer every time, but no one seemed to realize it. Maybe it was because he was so damn charming. 

Her cheeks went pink and she took a tiny sip of her wine. Thinking about how charming Oliver Queen was made her immediately flash back to their shared interview with Channel 52 News. It had been the last one and she had been surprised by how well it was going. But then, the pretty reporter gave Felicity a big smile and asked her to comment on Mr. Queen. On what it had been like to meet him. 

Whatever she had said, she couldn’t really remember it. There had just been babble, flowing out and making the reporter’s eyes go wide in that way Felicity was so used to seeing. That ‘somebody get me out of here’ way. 

But not Oliver’s. No, he hadn’t looked bored or annoyed or frustrated, like so many people did. He almost looked . . . amused? There was something else in his expression as she had talked, something she couldn’t identify, but there had definitely been amusement.

Giving herself a shake, Felicity started making her way towards the bar. She needed some water and some food. Needed to start preparing for the end of the evening, when she was just plain old Felicity Smoak again and her sparkly magic shoes became panda flats. 

Oooh, panda flats sounded goooood right about now. 

With a small smile, Felicity got herself some crudites and some water from the buffet. Staking out one of the high top tables, she nibbled and sipped as she looked around the room. 

This was really the first time she had been alone all night. There had been the signings, then talking to the party planner and being introduced to Oliver. And for some reason, he had seemed to not mind hanging out with her. There had been small talk, a few embarrassing babbles, and then the interviews. And after that, Oliver had gotten them both drinks and they had . . . talked. 

Even now, she wanted to pinch herself. She had carried on an actual conversation with Oliver Queen! And it wasn’t just small talk, but about things that actually mattered, like wine and music and writing. 

That was what had surprised her: Oliver asked her a question about writing. And he listened to her answer, acting like he was really thinking about what she was saying. 

Felicity crunched loudly on a carrot, feeling vindicated. She _knew_ that Oliver Queen had talent, she knew it! Seeing how he was interested in learning made her think he really wanted to live up to his potential. That he believed that he could be more, just like she did. 

Unfortunately, their conversation had only lasted about twenty minutes before Tommy had appeared, claiming that Oliver couldn’t monopolize Felicity all night, since she was the belle of the ball. That had made her laugh a little, because if anyone was a belle, it was Oliver. Not that he was the main female character in a Disney movie about learning to look beyond appearances . . . 

Why was she thinking so much about fairy tales tonight? It had to be her shoes. 

Taking a quick look at her feet and admiring yet again what the heels did for her legs, Felicity looked around and spotted Oliver at the far side of the room. He was talking to a blonde woman, smiling at her and clearly charming her. Felicity caught Oliver’s eye and couldn’t help giving him a small grin and a little wave. 

Even though it was just for tonight, it was kind of nice to feel like Oliver Queen was her friend. So she wasn’t expecting to see Oliver stiffen before turning to the blonde and kissing her passionately. 

Her whole body felt numb. Her feet didn’t hurt any more, her hand wasn’t wet from the condensation on her water glass, nothing. There was nothing. Because . . . because in one moment, Oliver Queen had reminded her, more cruelly and simply than should be possible, of the differences between the kind of people they really were. 

She was the IT nerd and he was the frat boy. And anything that made her feel differently had just been in her imagination. 

And now, it was time to wake up and go home. 

Turning away from the table, Felicity picked up her clutch and started walking to the door. People tried to draw her into conversations, tried to ask her questions, but she just shook her head and made her apologies. Normally, she would have branded such behavior unbelievably rude, especially to fans, but she . . . she had to get away.

Get away from how wrong she had been.

XXX

There had been plenty of times over the years when Oliver had played dumb. Claimed to not know why he had done the latest in a string of self-destructive acts. And yeah, in some cases he really didn’t know why he did such stupid shit. Like taking a leggy brunette with klepto issues into Starling’s most exclusive boutiques and watching her shoplift her way to ruin. Or challenging that preppy asshole from Gotham to a drag race, only to crash his Maserati into a tree when he had gotten distracted by his co-pilot, a hot redhead with wandering hands. 

But other times? He knew exactly what he was doing. So when Felicity gave him a cute little wave and a light-the-room-up smile, he knew why his reaction was to start macking on Sara. 

It was a warning for her. Steer clear of Oliver Queen if you wanted to be happy. 

Because spending time with Felicity was kind of addicting. No, just addicting, he corrected as he drove home. Sara and he had made a quick exit from the party and went straight to the nearest hotel, but there had been no reason to stay longer after they were finished. And now that he didn’t have any distractions, his mind kept returning to Felicity. 

She was just so damn hopeful. The optimism and enthusiasm bubbled out of her when she got started on something, whether it was wine or the weather or just anything. And if Felicity believed in you, then she seemed to know how to knock you down a peg, but in that nice way. The way that made you feel like she was doing it for your own good, to make you a better person. 

Even though spending time with Felicity could be good for him, he didn’t think it’d be good for her. He’d seen the insecurity in her. How she stood out in a room full of Starling City’s important people. How quickly she’d latched on to anyone who showed interest in her. Like him. 

The world as a whole wasn’t built for people like her. And the society that he moved in would chew her up and spit her out. So it was better to just push her back to where she felt safe before that happened.

His phone buzzed and he pulled it out of the pocket of his jacket. It was a text from Tommy. 

_hot nerd left same time u did. you tappin that or what?_

For a split-second, his hand tightened around the phone. Tommy had upgraded Felicity from ‘uptight teacher’ to ‘hot nerd’ during the course of the evening, but seeing him use those words to describe her, and following it up with the blunt question that he had asked Oliver a hundred times before . . . 

He punched the keys. _no went with sara. going home now._

Within a minute of sending the text, his phone rang. 

“Hi, Tommy,” Oliver said, trying to hide the weariness in his voice. Because he knew what was going to happen and he didn’t really feel like dealing with it. But he knew Tommy wouldn’t let this rest.

“You dog,” Tommy said. He was probably grinning from ear-to-ear right now. “And here I thought you were gonna get some nerd love tonight.” 

Yeah, this conversation was going to go just like he thought it would. “Dunno where you got that idea.” 

Tommy let out a snort. “Ollie, you could barely keep your eyes off her. And you were, like, nice to her. The only other girl you treat that way is Thea.”

“C’mon, she was like a kitten or something,” Oliver said, trying to defend himself by latching on to any explanation that might throw Tommy off track. “Anyone could see she was overwhelmed.” 

“Uh-huh. And normally you’d take advantage of that--you’d have taken her home tonight. But hey, maybe you just want to turn over a new leaf. Blondes instead of brunettes.” 

If he hadn’t needed one hand to drive and one hand to hold the phone, he’d rub his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Look, I’m nearly home and I’m wrecked.” 

“Okay, okay,” Tommy said, sounding like he had finally figured out that Oliver didn’t want to talk about this. “Rest up, ‘cause tomorrow, we gotta start talking about Phuket. Isabel loves the idea, BTW, so she wants an outline ASAP.” 

Honestly, the whole Phuket idea didn’t appeal much to Oliver. Writing _Frat Boy Way_ had been a challenge, yeah, but did he really want to do the same thing over again? Not only was it kind of lazy, but it sounded boring. But Tommy wanted to do it, and . . . and maybe getting out of Starling for a while would be good. 

But until he could leave, he wanted to do all he could to forget about tonight. 

“Okay. But after we work, we’re gonna play,” Oliver said. “You up for that?” 

Tommy snorted. “Dumb question, bro. Talk to you tomorrow.” 

Once he hung up his phone, Oliver tossed it into the passenger seat, letting out a sigh. He knew just how predictable he was being. Knew that he was playing into what everyone thought of him. But it was comfortable, living up to expectations. Easy. There was nothing wrong with easy. And why the fuck shouldn’t he be exactly what people wanted? 

So even though the appeal of being Ollie Queen didn’t feel very appealing right now, screw it. He’d make it work. 

He knew that Tommy and he could throw together enough to satisfy Isabel. The best weather in Phuket was already over, but celebrating the New Year in a tropical paradise sounded pretty awesome. So he’d just have to deal with this place for another month, and with Christmas coming up, it’d go quick. 

For a moment, he considered telling Tommy they should leave before Christmas. But he didn’t want to skip out on Thea and his mom for the holidays. So just another month and then he could be gone. Away from any chances he might run into Felicity Smoak. 

His hands tightened on the steering wheel. Damn it. He didn’t want to think about her, didn’t want to remember how she looked when they had been talking about writing, how her hands kept gesturing and her lips kept moving, like all she wanted was for him to know everything she knew. Like she wanted him to get better. Be better. Maybe even as good as she was. 

With a groan, Oliver stomped down on the accelerator. It was too late to be thinking like this. He needed sleep. A shower and then sleep, he thought, as a faint hint of perfume rose up from his shirt as he spun the wheel to turn into his family’s driveway. 

Perfume that he knew wasn’t Sara’s. 

XXX

Starling City Tattler, December 12, 2007  
 **Playboys on the Prowl!**

[photo of Oliver and Tommy, grinning drunkenly at the camera] 

Ollie Queen (L) and Tommy Merlyn (R) are certainly painting the town red and green. The two billionaire heirs are living it up during the holiday season, and there’s many a girl who wishes for one--or both!--of these hunks to be under her tree come Christmas morning. 

New York Times Best-seller List, December 16, 2007  
 **Hardcover Nonfiction**  
#3: _Invading the Treehouse: Why Women Are Needed in Technology_ by Felicity Smoak (Ex Astris)  
Weeks on List: 3

Starling City Examiner, December 17, 2007  
 **Amid Worrisome Reports, QC CEO Announces Trip to China** (excerpt)  
Robert Queen, the CEO of Queen Consolidated, announced last night at the annual Queen family holiday gala that he will be leaving for China shortly. He will be personally inspecting several QC factories, including those that are subject to complaints about safety and working conditions for laborers. “Whether they work in Chengdu or right here in Starling City, any employee of Queen Consolidated is entitled to the same protections under the law that ensure a safe workplace. If our partners in China aren’t living up to that, it’s my job as CEO to make them.” 

These reports come just after Oliver Queen has been arrested for driving under the influence for the third time. The young heir to QC is rumored to be traveling with his father in order to begin taking his place within the company.

Channel 7 Eye on Starling, December 17, 2007  
 **Crime Watch**  
On-Air Anchor: And in local news, a prominent Starling City bookstore was vandalized early this morning. The front windows of Star Books were smashed and while no cash or merchandise were taken, several books were destroyed. The damage is estimated at $5000.

[shot of destroyed books, all of which happen to be written by Felicity Smoak]

XXX

Pulling her black peacoat closer to her body, Felicity walked up the steps to enter the Starling City Police Department’s downtown station. The chill in the air was nothing compared to how she felt on the inside. Because ever since the joint book signing with Oliver Queen, her life had taken an unbelievable, unexpected turn. 

The only bright spot had been the success of _Treehouse_. It was climbing the best-seller lists, she was getting invitations to speak at college campuses and to all kinds of organizations, and there was noise that the book might even come out in paperback next year. Felicity knew that meant her publisher was really, really happy with the sales. 

But . . . but the success was making her life uncomfortable. In ways she had never anticipated. 

There was the fact that when she went to the grocery store or to the library, she was photographed by paparazzi. The first time it had happened, she thought it was just a slow news day, especially since it occurred two days after the joint signing. But then it kept happening, and Laurel began receiving a lot of press requests. Invitations for Felicity to appear on talk shows and current event programs, newspapers and magazines wanting to interview her . . . It blew her mind that anyone thought it was a good idea to put her on TV and see how long she could babble, but from what Laurel had told her, everyone seemed to think she was ‘adorable’ and ‘charming’ and ‘so smart’.

That was unsettling enough. But what was much, much worse was the reason she was at the police station, preparing to speak to Laurel’s father. 

Someone was making threats against her. 

Apparently, that letter writer, the one who had prompted some worry in Laurel, was escalating their attacks, sending a constant barrage of letters and emails. Felicity’s Twitter account and Facebook page were getting overwhelmed with insulting, threatening posts. And whoever it was, they had found her personal email address and had started sending her long, rambling, hate-filled messages. But when a local bookstore had been vandalized and only her books had been damaged, Felicity knew she had to do something. 

If she had been worried before, Felicity was rapidly approaching scared. Because what if this person found out where she lived? Even before the bookstore attack, she had been concerned enough to talk to Laurel, who put her in touch with her father. Captain Lance of the SCPD had understood her concerns but told her that there was little the police could do at this point. 

“We’re overworked and understaffed, Miss Smoak, and cybercrimes are particularly tricky for us,” he had explained when she had called him. “Until we have something that’s more of a credible threat, something that gives us a place to start . . . you might just have to bear it as best you can.” 

Felicity hadn’t liked that answer. Sure, she understood what he was saying, but that didn’t mean she had to accept it. After all, she kind of knew her way around a computer. So even though she had resolved to put her hacking days behind her when she left MIT, Felicity went to work, brushing up on her skills to find the person who was trying to silence her. 

It was a way to keep herself from getting terrified. And it almost distracted her from thinking about Oliver Queen. 

Taking a deep breath, Felicity shook herself out of her thoughts and approached the receptionist, who directed her towards Quentin Lance’s office. The captain was embroiled in what looked like a major chewing-out of three officers, so Felicity took a seat and waited, settling in her lap the folder of information she had collected on the letter writer. But with nothing to do, her thoughts went back to Oliver. 

In Starling City, it wasn’t easy to avoid Oliver Queen. He really was everywhere--or at least it seemed that way to Felicity. Every time she watched the news or picked up a paper, there he was: getting into trouble, grinning that cocky playboy smile at the camera. 

She just didn’t understand it. It didn’t make any sense that one man could act so differently. Because at the signing, he had been . . . nice. Almost sweet, with the way he had helped her with her first on-camera interviews and how he had listened to her even when she found herself rambling about writing. Up until the moment she had waved at him and he had started kissing that girl.

Actually, it was more like he was mauling her with his lips. If rumors were anything to go by, Oliver Queen knew how to kiss and much, much more. And yeah, of course Felicity had wondered what it would be like if, for some crazy reason, he had chosen to kiss her, Felicity Smoak. 

Maybe then she’d be able to figure out just who he was: Ollie or Oliver. 

A sudden uptick in the noise level made Felicity look around, noticing several uniformed police officers dashing for the exits. At the same time, Captain Lance yanked open his office door and strode out, barking into a phone as he juggled a walkie-talkie and his coat. 

“Captain Lance!” Felicity said, jumping to her feet and following after him. “We had a meeting?” 

“Just a minute,” he said into his phone, before turning to look at her with an apologetic expression. “I’m sorry, Miss Smoak, but there’s a hostage situation in the jewel district. Some whack job has a bunch of the high and mighty locked up in a jewelry store, and it’ll be my head--not to mention the mayor’s and a lotta other people’s--if we don’t take this guy out.” 

Felicity bit her lip, clutching her folder in front of her. “Of . . . of course. I’ll reschedule our meeting.” 

He nodded and gave her a tight smile. “Be careful out there.” 

“You, too, Captain,” she said, stepping back to let someone step up to talk with him. With a small sigh, Felicity slipped the folder into her bag and left the police station, feeling her shoulders slump as she stepped out into the twilight. 

Wrapping her arms around herself, she tried to tell herself that everything was going to be okay. That soon she’d get to talk to Captain Lance and show him the evidence she had collected. Evidence that he could hopefully use. And then maybe--

Hands like iron gripped her shoulders and pushed her into an alley. Stumbling, Felicity tried to keep herself from falling, only for an explosion of pain in her lower back made her back arch and sent her falling to the dirty pavement. Another blow, this time on her stomach, made her curl into a ball, her arms trying to protect her torso and face. 

But the blows kept coming, the hits and punches and kicks, and soon there was nothing she could do to protect herself. 

XXX

“Oliver?” 

He nearly groaned out loud as he pulled up short as his mother’s voice drifted out of the lounge. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with this. Ever since his latest DUI, he’d known Moira was worried about him. Hearing her concern and having to confront her disappointment was the last thing he wanted to do right now, not with a buzz on and all of Tommy’s demands about the Phuket trip circling through his brain. 

“Oliver, you heard your mother.” 

And he certainly didn’t want to talk to his father. But that particular voice from Robert Queen meant he needed to get his ass in the lounge, right now. So Oliver moved past the large trees decorated with twinkling lights flanking the lounge’s doorway and stood in front of his parents.

Robert and Moira Queen were presenting a united front. That wasn’t good. Because Oliver was well-aware his father had cheated on his mother, multiple times. And his mother had never been the warm-and-fuzzy type, leaving most of the mothering in Raisa’s capable hands. So sitting here together, sitting on the sofa next to each other . . . 

“Is this about the DUI?” he asked, his hands buried in the pockets of his trousers. “I was barely over the limit, that cop just wanted to bust me--”

“Regardless, it was your third arrest. It took a large donation to the Policemen’s Widows and Orphans Fund, not to mention a personal request to the Chief of Police, to ensure this went away, Oliver.” Moira paused, her eyes looking sad. “You can’t go on like this.” 

Quiet disappointment: his mother’s most potent weapon. Even though he tried not to show it, keeping up the playboy act was tough in the face of that. “Mom . . .”

“I don’t want to lose you,” Moira said, standing up and wrapping her arms around him. “My beautiful boy.” 

His mother’s favorite pet phrase for him, whispered softly into his ear, made Oliver melt. He hugged her back. “You’re not going to lose me, Mom,” he said before pulling back to look at her. “I was stupid, driving when I knew I had been drinking too much . . . I won’t do it again.” 

“No, you won’t.” 

The steel in his father’s voice made Oliver tense. Made him want to dig his heels in, when he had been ready to go along with whatever his mother wanted. Once again, his parents were playing good cop-bad cop on him. Sticking to the same old roles they always played with him. 

“Yeah, Dad? And how are you gonna make that happen?” Oliver asked, stepping away from his mother to loom over his father. 

Robert looked up at him, not bothering to stand up. As if to say Oliver’s attempt to dominate him was pointless, a bit of childish posturing. 

“Simple. We will remove you from the environment that allows you keep making these mistakes.” Robert sounded like he was talking about changing from coffee to tea, like this was nothing. And the thing was, this _was_ nothing to one of the most powerful men in one of America’s most powerful cities. 

“Have you forgotten that I’m over twenty-one? You can’t just send me off to boarding school like you used to when I pissed you off.”

His father might have nearly thirty years on him, but he was strong. He came to his feet in a flash, getting into Oliver’s face and wrapping a hand around his bicep in a grip of iron. “Yes, you’re over twenty-one. Which means it’s well past time for you to show a flicker of maturity. Some tiny shred of responsibility.” 

There was something in his father’s voice, in his posture, that made Oliver take a step back, as much as he could with Robert’s hand holding him in place. This wasn’t the first time his father had taken this tack with him, wasn’t the first time he had complained about Oliver’s lack of ambition. But this time . . . something was different. 

“I . . . I have. There’s the book,” Oliver said, feeling like he was grasping at straws. “I could--I could live off that, if you’re telling me you’re cutting me off.”

Scoffing, Robert advanced on him. “You think it’ll be that simple? We throw you out, you sink on your own? Unfortunately, although the idea is tempting, it’s the last thing the company can afford.” 

“The company?” Oliver asked, knowing he sounded like an idiot. 

“Yes, the company--what’s made all your lifestyle with all its debauchery possible. And what will make you into an adult, finally,” Robert said, almost screaming into his face. 

“Robert, please!” Moira said, moving to put a hand on his arm and forcing him back from Oliver. “You’ll wake Thea. And you said you’d keep your temper.” 

Oliver watched as his father took a few deep breaths, regaining his control. He was grateful for it, because he wasn’t used to seeing his father this angry. Sure, he had been mad before at his only son, but this . . . this wasn’t just anger. This was fury.

“Tomorrow afternoon, you and I will be boarding the Queen’s Gambit and setting sail for China. You will accompany me on my tour of our Chinese factories, and we will spend that time discussing your future.” 

Swallowing, Oliver tried to gather his thoughts. “We--we won’t be back before Christmas if we take the Gambit. Why can’t we fly?” 

“Your mother and I think you need time for reflection,” Robert said, taking Moira’s hand and tucking it into the crook of his elbow. Presenting that united front again. 

He opened his mouth. He was ready to explain that he never wanted to be part of the company, that he thought he knew what he wanted. That he wanted to be an author, a real one, and he was ready to disappoint his best friend, ready to work harder than he ever had before, ready to do what his father had always wanted him to do: take a stand and become an adult. 

But before he could start, his father locked eyes with Oliver. “If you don’t do this, we will do something much worse than cutting you off financially.” He paused, letting that sink in. “We will cut you off from Thea.” 

Oliver reared back, doing a double-take. He swallowed, feeling a lead weight settle in his stomach. “What?” he whispered, his eyes flicking back and forth between his parents’ faces. 

“Thea is reaching an impressionable age. And we don’t want her to follow in the footsteps of the big brother she idolizes.” Robert lifted his chin. “If you do not agree to come on this trip and seriously reconsider your choices, we will block you from having any access to Thea. You won’t be permitted to pick her up from school, you won’t live in this house anymore, and you won’t see your sister grow up into the beautiful, smart young woman she’s destined to be.” 

Each word felt like it was adding to the weight in his gut, until his whole body felt like it was filled with cement. He knew his father could do this. Knew his father could keep him away from his sister. Looking at his mother, he hoped he would see some sign that she wasn’t on board with this. Because she couldn’t do this, would she?

His mother’s eyes, so similar to his own, were full of pain . . . but also resolve. 

She was on his father’s side. 

Which meant there was only one choice to make.

Straightening his shoulders, Oliver looked into his father’s eyes. “Fine,” he said, his voice quiet and dull. “I’ll go.” 

End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope no one’s ready to kill me after this chapter! But Felicity’s attack and Oliver’s trip on the Gambit were always part of my plans for this fic. What wasn’t in my plans was how the story kept growing, needing to be told in multiple stories rather than in just one. Next week, you can expect to see a short, two-part story focusing on Oliver and Felicity’s separate experiences. After that, I’ll begin posting the next story in this series, which will be about Oliver and Felicity reconnecting after five years. 
> 
> If you couldn’t guess, I love a slow burn. :-)
> 
> So I hope you’ll continue along with this version of Oliver and Felicity! Thank you for reading and look for **Jumping Off the Cliff** next week.


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